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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924091">The Next Life</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron'>sheron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beach Holidays, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Slash, Summer Vacation, Team as Family</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924091</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually Tony had said: <i>listen, I own an island, let's go.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers &amp; Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Stony Loves Steve 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Next Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/gifts">hollyandvice (hiasobi_writes)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is from a story I read recently by julad. This is written for <i>Stony Loves Steve</i> event in response to a prompt about the past and future. Thank you to the mods for running the exchange and to ishipallthings for the beta.</p><p>I hope you enjoy the story!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>"This is love:</i><br/>
<i>to fly toward a secret sky, </i><br/>
<i>to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment." </i><br/>
<i>- Rumi</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That July, after the Battle of New York, was particularly difficult for all of them, which was why Tony had suggested a beach vacation in the first place. </p><p>Steve had spent most of May traveling on his bike, getting sporadic text messages at all hours of the day about what were clearly the best places to visit in each state according to Tony Stark. By June he had accepted the inevitable and came back to New York to stay at an apartment in the newly minted Avengers Tower, to which all of them were permanently invited. Thor had already gone back to Asgard, and Bruce had — according to Tony — flounced off to India in search of universal truths. Tony had been cross about it for days. But Natasha and Clint were living in the Tower, already treating it as their space by the time Steve moved in.</p><p>Living in somewhat close quarters they shortly discovered that none of them were sleeping through the nights for various reasons (the wormhole, Loki, the ice, loss of control) which first led to impromptu four-person poker games at 3AM, which led to drinking (Tony and Clint), and barbed exchanges (Steve and Tony), and eventually Tony had said: <i>listen, I own an island, let's go</i>.</p><p>Steve categorically didn't think it reasonable to own an actual island, but he was curious and really had absolutely nothing to do in this century that was more interesting than this strange but implausible team he found himself a part of, so he agreed.</p><p>Besides a shaving kit and swim trunks, he'd packed some books from the local library, and a small art notebook with some pens, in case the urge to draw came back after all. Since waking from the ice it had been touch and go to remember why he liked to draw in the first place, why any of it mattered. His sketches were all jagged lines and the pen pressing too hard, hard enough to tear paper. The paper hadn't changed in seventy years, but Steve had.</p><p>So Tony had flown them four to his private island, as if he could draw the veil over the memories, curtail them and wipe them fresh with salty sea breeze, with the cerulean water gleaming under the tropical sun, polish off the past with hot white sand. </p><p>Upon arrival to the private white stucco beach house, spotlessly clean and well-stocked — mansion would be the more appropriate term — Tony promptly holed up in one of the ocean-facing rooms and declared he had to get his projects finished, "so run along then." </p><p>Sending an arched look his way, Natasha dragged Clint off to attempt snorkeling, and Steve, after his own searching look in Tony's direction, left him to his own devices and went to walk the empty beach, bringing one of his books along. The hot glistering sand burned the soles of his feet, but not unbearably so, and he would step into the rushing ocean water and shiver at the difference. With the beach house far behind, and the long stretch of the deep, enduring ocean as far as the eye could see, the space between then and now felt infinitesimally small.</p><p>He found a quiet tree shade and lay down to page through the Agatha Christie's murder mystery he'd brought along with him, recalling the way he'd read the same book, different edition, in winter by a kerosene lamp oh so many years ago, during the war. Peggy had lent him the book that time. Here in the summer shade, the flitting beams of sunlight filtering through the tree leaves danced on the yellowing pages. The whisper of the ocean waves rolling over the sand became a peaceful, lulling sound. Steve fell into sleep, not a very deep one, but into that state of relaxed contentment in the high heat of summer that put all thoughts of moving out of your mind and let you just be. </p><p>By the time he opened his eyes again, Tony was sitting in the shade a few feet away, typing on a phone. He wore a black metal-head t-shirt and matching swim trunks, his mirrored sunglasses up on top of his head, and no tan lines anywhere on his bare legs. The blue light of the arc reactor in his chest was barely visible through the thin black cotton.</p><p>"Good book?" Tony said, not looking away from his Starkphone, when he sensed Steve's movement. He sounded distracted, frowning, his attention elsewhere; probably back in New York.</p><p>Thoughts still moving like molasses, Steve blinked sleepily at Tony, remembering where he was in stages. He rubbed at his eyes, yawning. "I've read it before."</p><p>"Why read it again?" Tony tapped something on his screen with nimble fingers. When Steve only stared at him in bemusement, he finally glanced over at Steve to get his answer. "Do you just like old things?"</p><p>"I like all kinds of things," Steve said, and ignored the amused look Tony gave him, the one that silently counted off all the jokes Tony wasn't deigning to make at his expense. He wore that look a lot; Steve had made peace with it, it was just who Tony was. </p><p>"Here," Tony thrust the phone he'd been playing with at Steve, without a preamble. "The Library of Congress at your fingertips."</p><p>Steve frowned. "It's fine," he said, for lack of a more gracious way to decline the offer. "I'm good." Steve sat up and pulled the old book in his lap, worrying at the worn top corner of the cover and noticing the cracked spine in a way he hadn't paid any mind before.</p><p>"Look, it's not a big deal. You'll like it," Tony wiggled the phone at him, then when Steve refused to take it, pulled his hand back, rolling his eyes. He signed, sounding very put upon. "Whatever you want to do — I can help you."</p><p>Steve's frown had been a tiny thing, surface annoyance, but now it grew full-blown. He didn't need any help to learn how a smartphone worked. It wasn't exactly flying cars. He rose to his feet. "I'm fine, thanks."</p><p>Tony, who had previously seemed to only be half-paying attention, glanced up at him with clear surprise. He didn't say anything; in fact, he didn't have to. Steve could read a lot into a look. <i>Why be so dull? </i>he imagined Tony thinking. <i>Why not let me teach you?</i> But Steve didn't need help and he needed fixing even less. He also didn't want to argue with Tony. They'd come to this private island to escape the conflict that was threatening to derail the entire initiative. The contentment from earlier flickered within him like a candle in the wind.</p><p>Steve turned to look back the way he'd come, towards the distant white beach-house gleaming like a pearl in the midst of all that blue sky. His footprints in the sand had been wiped clean by the foaming ocean tide, erasing all evidence the day had even happened. Time had very little meaning out on this isolated world, and without time what was the past? The worn book in his hand was the only reminder that the other universe had ever existed, with its kerosene lamps and smoggy Brooklyn streets.</p><p>He realized he'd been silent for too long.</p><p>"I'll be heading back," Steve said, and then hesitated and turned back to Tony, who was still staring up at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. The words sat stiffly on Steve's tongue. "Want to walk back together?"</p><p>Tony's silence made his skin prickle. Then an, "Okay. Sure." The other man got to his feet. They left the shade and Tony lowered the sunglasses, hiding his eyes. There was a cant to his lips that hinted at a smile, a jagged thing. He stretched, full-body, and put his hands behind his back as they strolled through the hot sand side-by-side. </p><p>Off in the distance, Natasha in her red swimming suit waved her hand and turned to say something to Clint.</p><p>Steve and Tony headed to meet them.<br/>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <hr/>
</div><p> </p><p>Evening brought a stiff chilly air from the ocean, and Tony got a fire going in the large stone fireplace to keep the living room warm. Clint was in charge of grilling corn, while Natasha experimented with the fine selection of alcohol on the shelves lining one of the walls, turning out fruity creations she asked them to test. By the fifth such drink conversation flowed freely, and although Steve couldn't feel drunk, he was maybe a little buzzed on the relaxed, warm atmosphere. Tony had set aside work and found some mellow Latin music that didn't grate on the senses to play in the background. He was sitting next to Steve on the sofa, with one foot on the low wooden coffee table, rolling his ankle back and forth in tune with the music. Natasha was humming under her breath.</p><p>Steve hadn't known they could be like this. At ease with each other.</p><p>He had a sudden urge to sketch.<br/>
</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <hr/>
</div><p> </p><p>Steve knew Tony didn't sleep much, and not even this pocket island of calm could change that. So when the hours crept by and Natasha retired to her room and Clint had conked out on the sofa, snoring, Steve wasn't surprised that Tony picked his phone back up and went back to frowning at it in a focused manner.</p><p>Steve was reluctant to leave for the night; that itching urge to draw had followed him into the late hour, and now looking at the lines of Tony's back he thought about the artful lines of Iron Man, a flowing red streak in the blue sky. His eyes lingered over Tony's shoulder that flowed into a well-defined arm, tapering off in a wrist that propped up Tony's head. Steve rolled the pen between his fingers for a minute before giving in and pulling out his thin art notebook, sketching. His drawing wasn't any good, not with so little recent practice, but the muscles of his fingers recognized the pressure of the pen as a satisfying, familiar, old comfort. A gentleness unfurled within him again, as if it had lain forgotten, buried deep in war and blood, but still there when he paid attention.</p><p>"You're smiling," Tony said suddenly very nearly startling Steve. Tony was looking his way and he tilted his head when Steve met his gaze, eyes deep and interested.</p><p>"So what?" Steve said idly, no heat in it.</p><p>"Haven't seen you smile much before," Tony observed into the quiet space between them. "Don't stop on my account."</p><p>Steve was smiling about how a particular line of an elegant wrist had taken shape in his rough sketch, and had no easy way to explain who that hand belonged to. Instead, conscious of the warmth between them, he said, "Thanks for bringing us here. It was a good idea."</p><p>"I'm a fountain of great ideas, just wait," Tony blustered immediately, and looked away. The thanks seemed to unnerve him. Steve watched Tony take off from the table with curiosity. He didn't know what came next: a joke, a laugh, a serious conversation? He knew he didn't want to look away. </p><p>Tony put a counter between them, setting his hands flat on the dark marble top and leaning in. "Art is something you like?" he prompted and his voice invited Steve to teach him, to show him more about himself. </p><p>"I did. I mean, I do. Drawing, mostly." He looked down, gripping the pen too tight.</p><p>"Old books, old hobbies," Tony tsked to himself. </p><p>Steve's chin quickly came up, even as his heart stung, even as he asked himself why it mattered. "That a problem?"</p><p>Tony pushed away from the counter-top. "Just trying to figure you out, oh my god." He searched Steve's face as if looking for a key to unlock the hidden door he knew must be there, looking to lift another veil between them. "You hated the birthday party."</p><p>The one in the Tower last week? "I didn't hate the party, Tony."</p><p>"The fireworks, then. Too loud." Tony paced the room. "Just admit it."</p><p>"The fireworks were fine." Steve hadn't really cared either way. There were often fireworks on the Forth of July; he'd gotten used to them. He hadn't realized Tony thought the party important. Obviously, he should have. They lived together. He was startled to realize there were hidden reefs in the seemingly unwavering current of Tony giving him things. His apartment in the Tower, the party Tony threw, this vacation, the Library of Congress at his fingertips.</p><p>He thought back to the gifts, to Tony trying to find something, anything he could do or figure out about what Steve really wanted. It wasn't about tearing the past out of his hands and replacing it with something new.</p><p>"Just once you could make it easier on me," Tony huffed presently.</p><p>Tension releasing, Steve settled back into the sofa. His look at Tony this time was fond. "Afraid of a little challenge, Stark?"</p><p>"What? No." Tony grinned. And then bit his lower lip a little before blurting out, "Are you?"</p><p>Steve shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Tony's face.</p><p><i>One of these days I'll figure you out, too</i>, he thought. <i>I want to.</i></p><p>Some day in the future, it would stop surprising Steve when Tony appeared to read his mind and respond directly to his thoughts. Now, he was still startled by it. </p><p>Tony fiddled with his phone, glancing up at Steve once or twice in the space of a few moments as if checking he was still there. Then he walked over and took up space on the sofa next to Steve.</p><p>"Here," Tony said, putting the phone in Steve's hands. Steve held it somewhat clumsily, looking between the man and the phone, unsure what Tony was showing him.</p><p>"Dummy?" Steve looked at the screen showing a front page of some old newspaper. He recognized the quirky robot that tended to hang out in the workshop where Tony was working most days. And then, squinting, "Is that...?"</p><p>"Found a newspaper clipping since you're so fond of them." Tony hid his hands in his pant pockets. "I was sixteen or so? Doesn't matter."</p><p>Steve studied the photo of a dark-haired boy smiling a the camera, one arm laying on the metallic arm of his creation. Glancing over at Tony, Steve was struck by the intensity of his gaze, the sudden swooping depth of his dark eyes. He looked back down at the old yellowing front-page image of the robot that tended to roll around underfoot in the Tower, and bump into things, its old programming constantly drawing sarcastic commentary from Tony. </p><p>Steve didn't ask what it meant, why Tony had shown him the photo; he already understood. He smiled in realization as another veil lifted.</p><p>Tony had never given up the past either. He'd taken it with him, into the future. </p><p>"Whatever you want to do, I'll help you," Tony said into the solemn quiet of the summer night.</p><p>Steve believed him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr post is <a href="https://sheronwrites.tumblr.com/post/622750905814663168/the-next-lifefandom-mcu-rating-g-word">here</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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